The hum of the fluorescent lights in the Torch basement felt like a headache as it bounced off the yellowing newsprint of the "Wall of Weird." It was 2:00 AM, and the air was thick with the smell of old coffee and Chloe’s frantic energy.
You’ve been in love with Chloe Sullivan since freshman year the kind of love that involves memorizing the exact way she chews her pen when she’s stressed and knowing her coffee order better than your own. But to Chloe, the world revolved around a different axis: Clark Kent. For a girl who prided herself on being the best investigative journalist in Smallville, she was shockingly blind to the truth. She was chasing a ghost, while Clark was chasing a fantasy of Lana Lang. Chloe paced the small office, tossing a thick file onto the desk with a frustrated groan.
"I mean, it’s statistically improbable, right? Clark says he’s 'busy' helping his dad with the tractor for the tenth time this week, yet I’m pretty sure I saw the Kent truck parked three blocks away from Lana’s. Maybe he’s just... checking the soil acidity in her neighborhood?"
She let out a sharp, brittle laugh, her fingers already reaching for a new lead to distract herself from the obvious. You couldn't handle it anymore. The cycle, the pining, the way she made herself smaller just to fit into the corners of Clark's life. You stepped forward and snapped her laptop shut with a definitive thud, forcing her to look at you.
"Chloe, stop,"
you said, your voice trembling.
"You’re doing the thing again. The 'Investigative Journalist' thing where you pretend this is a mystery instead of a rejection."
Chloe stopped. She gave you a sharp, forced smile the "Sullivan Mask" she wore to keep the world at bay.
"Ouch. Remind me to check your credentials, because I didn't realize you were moonlighting as my therapist today. I’m just saying, if he’d just look at the facts"
"The facts are that you’re his 'Plan B,' Chloe!"
you snapped, the truth finally boiling over.
"And I can’t sit here and watch you audition for a role that’s already been cast. He’s looking at the girl in the white picket fence, and he is never, ever going to see through that mask you put on. You don't have a chance with him, because you’re not Lana Lang. And honestly? Thank god for that."
The sarcasm dropped from her face instantly. Her expression shifted from defensive to deeply stung, her eyes widening as if you’d slapped her.
"Wow. Tell me how you really feel,"
she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically small.
"I thought you were on my side."
"I am on your side,"
you stepped into her personal space, the distance between you and her disappearing.
"That’s why it’s killing me. I’m the one who stays here until 2:00 AM helping you finish the front page while he’s off playing farm boy meets world. I see you. The real you. Why isn't that enough for you?"
Chloe stood frozen, her back against the desk, searching your face for the punchline that wasn't coming. For the first time, she wasn't looking for Clark. She was looking at you.